


Invent a Language to Name Me

by jambees221b



Series: Inceptiversary 2017 [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambees221b/pseuds/jambees221b
Summary: Eames is the one you know, the one you associate with me. Eames is the one who cannot let you go, now.





	Invent a Language to Name Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my trope/kink bingo square "anti-heroes".
> 
> The title and the inspiration for this fic comes from the amazing Yann Perreau song [Invente une langue pour me nommer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgJ6CanOhVw). For people on PC, just hover your mouse over the French lyrics as they come along in the text and a translation should appear. For people on mobile, go to end notes.

_J'te donne des yeux, des paysages._  
_J'invente des dieux à ton image._  
_J'fais l'tour du monde pour faire passer le pardon de mes péchés._  
_J'incarne le mal et le bien comme le plus doux des nietzschéens._  
_Je te présente à la beauté._  


Observing people is what I do, darling. It’s the basis of what I’m very handsomely paid for. I’ve built a reputation by cultivating the mystery around my art but, in the end, anyone with half a brain, good eyesight and enough imagination could do it. There’s no way I’d tell any of this to your face, though. Shattering the aura of secrecy would undermine everything I’ve been working on over the last decade. 

Why am I the best? Apparently, the others who attempt to make my job their trade are lacking the empathy it takes to put themselves in someone else’s shoes, to inhabit their thoughts and make them their own. The secret is simple. Just look at the world as if you were seeing it through their eyes, and act accordingly. Let your new perceptions mold your body, affect your stance and change your speech. Accept without any judgment, understand their behaviour from within and let the forge become who you are.

To be completely honest, though, the biggest hindrance my competitors are dealing with is that you have to be willing to _forget_ who you are, to sacrifice your sense of self to make the way entirely clear for the forge you are bringing to life. What sets me apart from the rest of the hopefuls is that I _sincerely_ don’t care about giving up who I am. I entered the field willing to forget, willing to become someone else. I shed my skin and left my past behind, building Eames from scratch, just another forge to cast aside when the job starts.

That was until I met you, Arthur.

Eames is the one you know, the one you associate with me. Eames is the one who cannot let you go, now. Eames is the one I need to flesh out in order to reach out to you. But how do I own a life that is not mine to begin with?

_Fais de moi ton alentour, ton séjour dans le hasard._  
_Fais de moi ton attraction._  
_Fais de moi ton insolence, le rythme effréné de ta danse._  
_Fais de moi ton adversaire, ton étendard dans la poussière._  
_Fais de moi ton peuple entier._  
_Invente une langue pour me nommer._  


I see you in my dreams. Literally. You’re always on my mind and showing up at the most inopportune moments. The colour of your eyes is in the evening sky, hijacking the sunset. Your laugh resonates in the distance where my projections convene. 

All I want is for you to _see_ me, Arthur. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? What is there to see, when I spent so many years purposely forgetting who I am? The blessing is now a curse, and I’m stuck thinking about you in between jobs, with no real life of my own, wasting time, gambling my earnings away in Mombasa. I’m waiting for the next phone call while tracking your every move from a distance as subtly as I can, hoping Dom is not leading you into peril while I’m not there to have your back.

There used to be a time when dreamsharing was about the thrill of doing impossible things, the odd job done out of moral principles, or the ones with too good a payout to say no. 

I don’t care about the money. I don’t care about the notoriety. I don’t even care about my own life, if the job were to go tits-up. I’m living for the smile of approval that oh-so-rarely graces the corner of your lips. I’d rob my own mother blind if you asked me to, Arthur. 

You’d be very proud of my spreadsheets, my carefully organized contingency plans to get you out of trouble. Some of them were put to good use already, well-orchestrated schemes that unfurled seamlessly, hopefully unnoticed. The policemen who lost track of you in Brazil? My doing. The last-minute plane cancellation that made it possible for you to get out of Barcelona alive? Me again.

I’m slowly but surely remolding myself around you, as inconspicuously as possible, but you must already know that. You know everything. My gift is to forget, yours is to absorb and remember everything there is to know. You haven’t called me out on it yet, so I suppose you don’t mind having your very own con man as a morally-dubious guardian angel. 

I wish I could court you properly, Arthur. I’ve done it numerous times, but with people that did not matter to me as much as you do now. Back then, I didn’t mind that what I was offering them was as fake as could be, a fraction of a man ready to run at any moment’s notice. I wish to offer you everything that I am, as imperfect and imprecise as it is. 

I’ve done my fair share of soul searching in the last two years, trying to shape myself into someone with an identity worthy of you. I’m getting there, slowly but surely. 

Soon. I’ll come to you soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics, translated:  
>  _I give you eyes, landscapes._  
>  _I invent gods in your image._  
>  _I go around the world to earn mercy for my sins._  
>  _I embody evil and goodness like the sweetest of Nietzsche-ans._  
>  _I introduce you to beauty._
> 
> _Morph me into your surroundings_  
>  _The gambling land you visit._  
>  _Morph me into your attraction._  
>  _Morph me into your insolence, the unbridled rhythm of your dance._  
>  _Morph me into your opponent, your banner in the dust._  
>  _Morph me into your whole kingdom._  
>  _Invent a language to name me._  
> 
> Once again, an enormous THANK YOU to [kate_the_reader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader) for revising, editing and being the best beta-reader in the world.  
> Thank you to [Oceaxe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe) and [Brookebond](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/), without whom nothing would actually get to Kate in the first place. You both do wonders and kick my doubts out the window. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


End file.
